


Good Grief

by OrianaGray



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Acceptance, Crushing, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, M/M, No clue how many chapters this will be, Pining, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, at some point, but here we go, probably smut, we'll see where the wind takes us
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-28
Updated: 2017-03-30
Packaged: 2018-09-27 10:14:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10006952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrianaGray/pseuds/OrianaGray
Summary: Magnus was quick to learn the world works in weird and unusual ways. He hadn't by any means believed to find comfort in an old enemy, or for that enemy to have an understanding of his own struggle, and he absolutely in no way shape or form had planned to fall in love with them. The world works in mysterious ways, and good grief did he not expect Lucas Miller.





	1. An Act of Kindness

**Author's Note:**

> Alrighty! So this ship is crack as heck but I really like it and had a lil idea, so let's run with it! Going to try and update this every Saturday! I don't know how many chapters it will be, but I don't really think it will exceed ten. So yep, hope you all enjoy!
> 
> An act of kindness  
> Is what you show to me  
> It caught me by surprise in this town of glass and eyes  
> Kindness, so many people pass me by  
> But you warm me to my core and you left me wanting more

The streets of Rockport were bustling, as usual, shoulders bump and ground in the industrial shining star of Faerün. Magnus paid no mind, in fact-- he very much enjoyed the contact, the rushing thrill that tingled within the large group was refreshing, to say the least. A thick layer of gray clouds hung heavy over the bustling city, Magnus didn't mind that either- rather enjoying the mildness of the climate, peaceful and right between that joyous spot of warmth and freezing. He tilts his head back and inhales, taking in the sweet smell of a nearby bakery, as well as the thick coal smoke that blew from the powerful column of the Rockport Limited as it exited the station.  _ Perhaps old age makes you appreciate things more, _ Magnus wonders, his smile growing. 

 

Magnus had arrived not long ago, in the early wakes of the morning-- it came as a surprise that there were so many people already up, with even more places to be. He came to run a small errand to pick up a couple things to help embellish his next present, a hand carved jewelry box for Taako. Rockport, the first city to have a sort of industrial revolution, was the first and more obvious choice. Though, it would be a lie to say that the mass crowd made Magnus a little uneasy about how simple the task should have been-- how was he to find anything?

 

His thoughts halted as he noticed a person scurrying amongst the crowd, a head of curly dark brown locks frantically bobbing and swaying as the person it was attached to grabbed at fallen fruits in a panicked manner. Magnus stares a moment astounded at the fact that people simply kept walking around and continued on, leaving the man to try his best to block the fruit from being stepped on. It was only right when Magnus blocked the crowd in front of a man, earning glares and muttered words of disapproval that he could care less about. He taps the shoulder of the panicked man, the soft wool fabric of the long coat soft beneath his finger, “Need some help with that?”

 

The man looks up and for a moment, Magnus considers walking away. Because it was there, in the crowded streets of Rockport-- that he was staring at a man with the most punchable face in existence, who left him to die in a lab, and death managed to look over him for gods know why.

 

Lucas Miller squeals, “W-what?”

 

“I asked if you wanted help,” Magnus repeats. Lucas stares up at him, seemingly awestruck by the act of goodwill, before groaning as someone kicks an apple of which he had been reaching for-- directly into the street. “Nevermind,” Magnus says as he leans down and plucks up an orange and dropping it into the silk bag Lucas had been scooping the various delectables into. It takes a minute, and the occasional (and extremely  _ rude _ ) passerby stepping on one of their hands and/or fruits.

Magnus stands, dusting some of the dirt from his pants before reaching out to Lucas. Striking gray eyes stare at the large hand, the deep hickory hue seeming to magnify the bright shine off them, examining his palm as if it were a puzzle or trap. It was not long before a thin, bony hand of which the palm had been wrapped in a cloth bandage soon grasps his, and he pulls Lucas up perhaps quicker than preferred, the scientist borderline shrieks as he’s pulled up to his feet. 

 

Lucas pulls his hand away with a gasp, rubbing over the bandaged area with a pained expression-- sending a twinge of guilt through Magnus, who stared awkwardly as Lucas muttered (probably not kind) words beneath his breath. “Ah, well.” Magnus starts as he sheepishly rubs at the back of his neck, “Sorry, I forget how strong I am sometimes.”

 

Lucas said nothing, rather raising an eyebrow and pensively pinching his lips together as he squints at Magnus, finally saying plainly, “You look different.” 

 

“Okay, yeah that happens when you age twenty years.” Magnus huffs, “But you could have said ‘thank you for helping me pick up that fruit!’ or just you know, ‘Hi’.”

 

Lucas groans and ties a knot at the handles of the bag, “I was getting to that.” He whines, “Look, I was heading out for coffee and tried to get groceries, lady ripped me off with a faulty plastic bag, now do you want coffee or not?”

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“I’m asking  _ you _ to join  _ me _ for coffee!” Lucas scoffs, “To you know, thank you, I guess…” If it was sincere, Magnus wouldn’t have been able to tell if Lucas wasn’t looking at the ground, nervously shuffling his boot on the ground- a deep amber blush across his cheeks. It was almost endearing, but Magnus would never say such a thing about  _ Lucas Miller _ of all people. 

 

“Sure.” Magnus says and Lucas glances up, seemingly surprised at the answer, “It’s been an interesting morning-- coffee sounds great.” That as a lie, Magnus was not fond of coffee in the slightest, but he was not the kind of guy to outright deny a favor of thanks. Lucas stilled, the edge of his lips twitching in an almost smile before tensing back up into the familiar pinched expression.

 

“O-okay then,” He says with his usual stammer, “Follow me.”

 

The shop wasn’t far, just a few blocks down-- it seemed a lot farther, though if Magnus was to be sincere,  due to the mass crowd of people the equivalent of a raging crosswind constantly shoving Lucas back. The shop itself was quaint, a small display case of puffed pastries that produced a sickly sweet smell that made Magnus’s stomach churn, suddenly craving some of Taako’s macaroons-- something he was sure that tasted better than this shop's best pastry because well  _ Taako _ made it. 

 

He is also fairly certain that Lucas ordered enough espresso shots in his own coffee to kill a dragon, and but the grand relics power to shame-- and then a quick, “Oh, and some vanilla, please?”  _ That was new,  _  Magnus thought as he heard the small query of politeness, the Barista raised their eyebrows and nodded, “Names uh, Lucas, and I’m also paying for my or-  _ acquaintance _ Magnus. So.. Yeah.”

 

Lucas was painfully awkward, fiddling his fingers nervously together, linking and unlinking them in a blindingly fast crescendo. “I’ll just have your special, surprise me!” Magnus says cheerfully, Lucas scoffs but says nothing as he pays. The two sit in a small and cramped booth in the back, Lucas’s gangly and thin legs knocking against Magnus’s oak tree trunk sized ones under the table. Magnus paid no mind to the contact, he was used to such a thing- in fact, it was normal to engage in a regular game of footsie with Taako. Lucas clearly was unsure, every time their legs touched he squeals, and blushes embarrassedly. A thick silence settles between the two of them, Lucas having his arms crossed and shoving himself as much as he can into the back of the seat while Magnus twiddles his thumbs.

 

“How’ve you be-” The say in unison, Magnus laughs and Lucas sinks (impressively, how far could that cushion go?) further back into the seat with an embarrassed blushed. Muttering a quiet apology. Magnus grins, tapping the table with his finger to get Lucas’s attention.

 

“Well, I want you to go first.” Magnus says, “Rustic hospitality and all that, are you, I think last time I saw you I told you to  _ do good. _ Are you?”

 

Lucas stares intently at Magnus’s hands, brows knitted tightly-- in that moment a pained expression crossed his face, his voice low and melancholy as he spoke, the usual snarkiness nowhere to be shown, “Depends on what you mean by that. I’ve done good things, help when I can, but- I’m not doing good. It’s been eh, give or take a year and I still don’t have a friend, o-or at the least know anyone.”

 

“Oh,” Magnus says, Lucas stares down at his lap, a deep frown cutting his face, his eyes seemed glossy- as if he were withholding tears. Magnus couldn’t imagine it, being in such a large city and yet having no one else to talk too-- it sounded awful. A waitress comes by and sets the two cups of coffee between them, Magnus thanks them. Cupping the finely decorated porcelain mug between his hands, the strong smell of cinnamon overtakes Magnus and he nearly groans, he may not be one for coffee- but he’d be damned if he said it didn’t smell great.

 

Lucas remained still, his eyes still concentrated on his lap and each blink came very slow-- his shoulders shaking. He never noticed Magnus stand, never heard him move and he jumps as a plate is set down before him, eyes wide as  Magnus smiles softly down at him. The sweet smell of a lemony tang overcame Lucas, and he looks at the two slices of lemon bread Magnus had purchased, “I..” Lucas trails off, staring at the cake as if he were trying to decipher them.

 

“Hey, what’s a favor between friends? You look hungry.” Magus says Lucas' head shoots up at the word ‘friends’, eyes wide like a deer in the lantern light-- mouth wide open. It was so odd to Magnus, how such a small act of friendship was so striking, leaving a guy like Lucas utterly appalled. 

 

“A friend?”

 

“Yeah! Everyone needs a friend.” Magnus hums complacently as he pops a pinch of the cake into his mouth, he choked on it as something smacked him hard in the chest. Magnus gasps out as the air is knocked from him- two twiggy arms wrapped around his middle. A hug, Lucas was trying to hug him. Magnus laughs and returns, but frowns as Lucas sniffles, “There, there?”

  
“Don't say anything, about it,” Lucas grumbles, the words reverberating in a ticklish way within Magnus's chest. Magnus chuckles and pats on Lucas’s back in reassurance. It was fine, it was nice-- the evening remained as a sweet lemon tastes and small talk swapped between new found friends.


	2. Way Beyond

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the nice feedback, you all are amazing!!!
> 
> When panic rises like the ocean we  
> Just keep on flicking through the stations 'cause  
> If we don't post it does it happen  
> Oh I wanna be free of this

 

Lucas turned over in the oil stained sheets of his bed, eyes screwed shut and shuddering- mouth open with gasps and whines coming from him.  _ There was a laugh above him, soft and teasing--  _ Lucas groans, his face shoving deep into the coverless pillow,  _ A tongue lulls over the flat of his chest and he whimpers, back arching upwards, the smiling man above him laughs, “Oh- you would like that...” _ Lucas whines and turns over,  _ Nails rake up his back and his dark legs contrast against the lighter tone of the man before him, who bucks into him slowly, teasingly, as he peppers Lucas’s throat with kisses. Painted fingernails on much larger hands than his own squeeze into his frail hips-- holding tight as thrusts become more erratic, hot breath gaps in Lucas’s ear, the man is moaning his name in shuddering gasps with each thrust, Lucas- Lu--cas, Lucas--s. _

 

“Magnus!” Lucas cries out, he shoots up- nearly toppling over at the speed of which had launched upward with. He gasps, hands tangled in his sheets-- cold sweat slicking his skin as he pants-- and he for a moment he has no recall of what dream he had just had soon reminded by the wetness in the front of his pants.

 

“Lucas? Lucas are you alright?” The muffled voice of Magnus transmits through Lucas’s stone of far speech that remains under a heap of lab coats. Lucas groans- ripping the covers from himself (he’d definitely need to wash them later) and scurrying over multiple piles of undesirables-- fishing the stone from his pocket.

 

“Magnus? I’m fine yeah.”

 

A moon away, Magnus sighs a breath of relief. Magnus smiles, grabbing at the nearby whittling knife he had. He was carving something… surprising, intricate and most likely one of the harder things he’s made in his lifetime-- besides Taako’s jewelry box of which had a mongoose crest on it (Yes, Taako loved it, a considered success) “What was going on then? You were yelling, I was worried.” 

 

In a shitty apartment in Rockport, that smelled of must and old books-- with the horrid twinge of metal that runs across the nose like a knife, amongst piles of rubble-- that were not so much that of a war zone of humanity, but perhaps simply, a warzone of a singular human against himself. Lucas sighs and flopped back downwards on his bed, a deep blush cresting his cheeks, “Ah well- it was a dream..” Lucas then proceeds to lie, “I-I don’t remember it though, was I yelling?”

 

“Lucassss.” Magnus draws out the 's' in a teasing tone that was, quite frankly, not helping the  _ situation _ , “You know what this means right?” Lucas visibly (not to Magnus, however) stiffens, fingers gripping at his dirtied sheets like a lifeline.

 

“What?”

 

“It means that, and what I’m gathering here is- that  _ Lucas Miller  _ is actually sleeping like a normal human being.” Lucas can hear a soft pop as a hunk of wood is cut from something. Magnus laughs and something within Lucas’s stomach feels as if it were turning over, “That’s pretty whack, seeing as you never fucking go to bed.”

 

Lucas scoffs, at two given facts: one, the horrid amount of times Lucas had been met with that horrid statement of  _ go the fuck to sleep _ \-- and then proceeded to be met with a racing mind such as his own… making the statement much easier said than done, and two, Magnus’s smugness could be seen as rather rash, or arrogant, was the better term, but for a singular second Lucas felt a pang of something new because just the single fathoming spark of this and actually caring about him had Lucas downright ecstatic.  “ _ Just _ because all of those other-”

 

“How many?” Magnus teases, and gods Lucas could picture that satisfied smirk that was most definitely spread across Magnus’s face at the moment. And that little scar just at the very corner of his lip, a faint crescent that carves across the corner of the fighters mouth as if it were a perfectly orchestrated slice-- that tatters the pink plush of Magnus’s lips. Perhaps, well--  _ perhaps _ tattered wouldn’t be the right word there, maybe it would be  _ personifies _ , or even-- if Lucas did ever so dare (and he did), it could be considered an embellishment. Lucas huffs.

“Probably, out of these 3 months--” Lucas mind pauses a moment, 3 months into this endeavor and he still cannot believe it’s happening, the boys mind is on  _ rapidfire _ , three months that chance-- or maybe even some crazy fucking alignment within the stars, or science, maybe even (and Lucas loathed the word)  _ coincidence _ . Three whole months, and Lucas says, “I would say 84 out of that given 92 days. So only, ugh, 91% of the time! That’s not bad.”

 

“Not bad and very bad aren’t the same, Lucas.” Magnus huffs, “I still can’t get over that you can do that kind of math in your head so fast.” Another  _ schk _ noise and the soft impact of something hitting a surface. Lucas beams at the compliment, his fingers held the stone of far speech close to his heart. The soft vibrations of the smooth rock sending a pleasant feeling through the scientists chest.

  
  


“What are you carving?”

 

Magnus pauses, the pleasant grinding noise of metal amongst wood halting along with him, “Well fuck.” Magnus grumbles, “I can’t tell you-- s’a secret.” Lucas sighs pleasantly, rolling his eyes, “We still down for today?” The carving continues, and Lucas listens intently-- perhaps he could figure out a pattern if he listened to the cuts? He was never one for surprises, but certainly was skilled at finding them out quickly.

 

“Mhmm.” Lucas hums, “I still have no idea what it is though,” He lied, they were going to a new ice cream parlor downtown (it serves icecreams for dogs as well, and he knew Magnus well enough to fill in the blanks.)

“You’ll love it!” Magnus chimes happily, Lucas was allergic to dogs-- he wouldn’t tell Magnus this of course, because as much as he didn’t love the itching-- he did love the low rumble of Magnus’s laughter,  “I’ll swing by your place soon and pick you up! Sound good?”

 

“You have the address?” Lucas asks, eyebrows knitting in confusion, “Since when did I..”

 

“Two weeks ago, Lucas.” Magnus says-- in the backline tone Lucas was no fool, and could hear the clear concern, “That’s why you need sleep-- everything is blurring together.” Lucas frowns, the words  _ I’ll sleep when i’m dead _ , on the tip of his lips, those words-- well he had seen the looks Magnus gave him when he said such things, so he satisfied the both of them with a soft  _ hmm _ .

 

“I know. I know.” Lucas reassures, running long nimble fingers through his ratted curls, “I’ll see you soon, okay?” He sits up, already tugging his shirt above his head and grunting as it gets stuck on one of his long limbs.

 

“Alright Lucas, see you soon, goodbye-- Maybe take a power nap!” Magnus smiles as he sets the stone aside, returning to his work. It was so oddly natural, how one occurrence had slipped into two, three to four and so on… It was always little things, idle chatter, shared laughs and stories from their experiences inside the Bureau of balance, they had a routine of him picking up Lucas (though, he is still yet to see inside the man’s apartment)-- going somewhere new each time… It was something to look forward too always, a nicety to be able to have a contact outside of the Bureau itself. He takes moment to blow on the exterior-- sending the wooden chips flying. As his lips purse, he imagines something-- something being other lips meeting them. Soft ones, thin and constantly pressed together from thinking, being worried between teeth.

 

He would never admit his imagination of kissing Lucas Miller.

 

So instead, he occupies himself, a dusty color of red on his cheeks and a new determination within him as he continues with his work. He would not imagine Lucas Miller, he would not imagine the smirk that crossed the man’s lips every time he figured something out, the way he sticks his tongue out so slightly, and he most definitely did not picture nights that were hazy- soft and full of laughter and kindness. 

 

No, he just continued to whittle...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Watching through my fingers, watching through my fingers  
> In my thoughts, you’re far away  
> And you are whistling the melody, whistling the melody  
> Crystallizing clear as day  
> Oh, I can picture you so easily, picture you so easily
> 
> Stop by and say hiya! to me on...  
> Twitter: Oriana_gray  
> Instagram: Oriana_gray  
> Tumblr: Orianagray


	3. Four Walls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lucas hurts, Magnus helps, and dusting apartments is ignored.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now we're faced with two wrongs  
> I don’t know, oh I don’t know  
> We could be born to anything and now, and now  
> What you have done is terrible  
> And now you, and now you  
> Now you carry it with you  
> You carry it with you
> 
> Sorry about how late this was!!! It was my birthday on the 9th and we were celebrating it during the weekend, plus school, and... training for a world qualifier in BMX.... ALRIGHTY enough excuses, here ya go!

Lucas’s apartment had a thick melancholy atmosphere that rested in the air, it’s weight causing Magnus to feel as if he were intruding. When Magnus had first walked in, the first thing he had noticed was the smell of abandon, which consisted of dust and a stuffiness to the air within, and the heavy thingy scent of oil. There were small piles that consisted of a mess of clothes and various tools scattered about its main room, a kitchenette that had rotting fruit, a lot of half built robots, and absolutely no furniture except a fold down bed. Another disconcerting trait was hardly any personality to the apartment itself, the walls were blank, and everything that occupied the room had the dull sheen that represented a fine layer of dust had made its home on them.

 

Magnus looked comical as he sat awkwardly at the end of the bed, his large body dipping the end of the small mattress, twiddling his thumbs as he waited for Lucas to get ready. He notices something, on the end of a dresser-- it was quite possible the only item that contained a single touch of personality to this place, and it was a simple (and yes, dusty) framed picture. Curiously he grabs it from the shelf, wiping the dust off it with the pad of his thumb. Beneath the clear dash that now stood broadly against the chalk gray of the dusty film, there is a face, smiling broadly back at him-- a woman with intelligent eyes and warm brown skin that had small smudge of oil on her cheeks and fingers, straight cinnamon colored hair pulled back into a bun— he also noticed that some of her hairs seemed to be burned. He frowns at the familiarity of the image, the warm course in veins that is so abruptly stopped by a bitter chill, he had never met her while in her actual body, only encased in steel, but there were enough mutterings and files sitting monitored on the director's desk for him to know who she was-- and he frowned as he stares into the eyes of Maureen Miller.

 

The dust of it all was removed in a couple of delicate swipes of Magnus’s large palms, the rest of the photo coming into clarity as well as all its bittersweetness. A young boy is carefully balanced in her lap, beaming proudly as he holds a small robot in his hands-- the child has a missing front tooth and dark skin, his bright eyes were hidden behind thickly framed glasses, a mop of curls showing some obvious burns (most likely from the creation of that robot. Magnus heart tugs, they looked incredibly happy, and well--  _ of course t _ hey would, they had no reason to think otherwise. They weren’t to know the fate that was to become of them, the crimes the would unknowingly commit, the pain that would be struck into that smiling child like a knife. So bad that they would turn to necromancy, to near murder... He knew it well, of course-- his fingers grab at the wedding rings strung on a necklace around his neck.

 

He wishes he could say that didn’t know those feelings, but he did.

 

A soft and rather ironic laugh huffed from beside Magnus, a direct hot puff billowing across his ear, and he yelps in surprise: nearly fell back at the sudden noise. Lucas stood over him, dark wet curls sticking to his tanned forehead, eyes crinkled at the edges as he stares down at the photograph. His thin thumb scratching over Maureen’s brown hair as if it were tangible there and not simply hidden behind a thin cheap pane of glass. “I still can’t believe it’s, well, it’s been a year huh?” There was an idle softness in his voice that clung to each word, lethargic and slow that made the statement drip with a melancholy Magnus knew well. “I wonder if all is well in the astral plane, if she’s happy there…” His voice halted, tan lips curling slightly across the upper tips of his teeth, Magnus looks up into those dull gray eyes, crinkled at the edges-- a child burying their mother at this age, to watch her die twice-- Magnus couldn’t imagine.

 

Except, he knew perfectly well he could.

 

“I think she should be, it is very pretty there.” Magnus says. Lucas frowns, shaking his head and curling his fist.

 

“D-don’t say that like you knew her, Magnus.” Lucas spits, “You know she saved my life, why the fuck did she save my life? I’m not worth  _ that _ , I'm not worth  _ her. _ She’s done so many good things, but what of me? Nothing! There will be another genius, probably is! We could have been together again, I wouldn’t be shoved into a goddamn hole and be ignored-- she had to put me back in this hell.” 

 

Magnus wraps his fingers gently around Lucas’s shaking fists, they don’t jolt at the new contact, just push forward so slightly as to allow Magnus’s hands to cradle his own. Lucas remains staring at the photo with an unreadable look crossing his features, as usual, his mind was coursing on rapid fire, Magnus knew only of the complexity of neurons that fired off in the scientist's mind-- never the extent of the context that they contain, though, “Lucas, you’re brilliant and smart enough to know that is not okay.” Magnus pauses, “Losing someone you love hurts very bad, and sometimes you would want to do anything to be with them again-- that includes dying, sometimes. But think, would she want that? She brought you back for a reason, Lucas, she believes in you. Maybe, if you believe in her-- you’ll find a new viewpoint.”

 

The tears were clear as they slipped down those familiar angled cheeks, slick and bright as the single light in the apartment shuddered in its brightness. Lucas was silent, as those tears fell not a word, not noise elicited from him, only a thick and despairing silence-- shaking, his lips began to tremor violently as his eyebrows rose- his head shifted downward in a show of vulnerability, the half-dried curls barely jittering at the moment. There was a quiet sniff, and a pause before his creaking voice spoke out, “She believed in me…” He choked, lanky body curling inward on itself as he gasped, “A year, and I’m still crying like it was ye-yesterday, I ha-hate this Magnus-- I really hate this. I hate c-crying.” His knees wobbled, and he was soon sitting beside Magnus-- curled inward and sobbing-- heaving and coughing, hiccuping. The sight is familiar, Magnus remembered vaguely, nights at inns where he would spend the resting like that-- curled up with rings pressed in his hands so hard they pierced flesh. It would have been easier if he wasn’t alone, he stares a moment at Lucas, who had been- much like him, utterly alone. Magnus was met with two options in that moment, and he chose the one he knew best-- to help.

 

Magnus stretched out his long bulky arms and embraced Lucas’s shaking from, his nose buried within the scent of lavender that lingered within the man's soft and whisping locks of hair, arms wrapping around the furious shaking, “Lucas,” He whispers in a low tone, he could feel the shell of Lucas's ear graze his lips just barely as he spoke, “It’s okay to cry, have a good cry, let it all out-- sometimes it’s what you need.” Lucas nods as an ungodly sob leaves his body, echoing off the four walls of the small room. 

 

There were no windows, no sight of the sun-- no clocks, time was nothing but a distant memory here in the confines of this apartment. it was nothing but a singular word that was simply forgotten as Magnus cradled Lucas. So it was only a guess that perhaps, twenty to thirty minutes had gone by, within each minute Magnus was willing to remain there, as well as he was willing to be there for many more,  if it meant he was to be the person to say that they helped, to care for a friend, his mind drawled out that idea with a sweetness that had a sour tang in it, for reasons he could not quite conjure a reason for. He moved slowly back and forth in a rocking motion, and Lucas’s trembling fingers of which had dug into his shirt (that was also, unfortunately, stained with tears), uncurled slightly, a quiet and shaky sigh coming from the smaller man.

 

“I think it hurts more,” His voice was squeaky from being worn down as he rasped out each vowel, a horrid scratching grinding mercilessly against his tone, “To think I could have stopped it, I knew how dangerous that crystal was but I stood by, I encouraged it-- I was so blinded by the desire for recognition, for greed-- I forgot about it.” 

 

“We all make mistakes,” Magnus says in a low tone as he runs a smooth circle into the center of Lucas’s back, “You and I, I guess we just fucked up real good. Julia, my wife, died when I was out delivering a chair to a competition, she died because of my need for recognition, when I returned. The only way I knew the body was hers was the ring on her finger.” He holds up the burnt ring on his necklace, his fingers shook rapidly as he did so-- making the ability to actually focus on what he was holding on a particular struggle. “But you wanna know what I do, to know that she can be proud of me as she rests well in the astral plane?”

 

Lucas stares intently, his red-rimmed eyes affixed on the ring before he begins shaking his head slowly as he reaches his fingers out to rub the edge of the mauled band of metal, tracing the foggy and clouded diamond that was stained with the rusty color old blood. Magnus looks at the curiosity that resonated off of Lucas, and the slight shake of spindly fingers as they gently rubbed against the metal with care and hesitancy, as if even though he was by no means strong- his touch could possibly shatter it. “I do good, for her, I do good for others, and I do good for myself as long as it hurts no one else.”

 

Lucas sniffles, “You make it sound easy, to just up and care about people who don’t know or care about you. His head rests on the prominent curve of Magnus’s shoulder, his eyes staring at the collar of Magnus’s shirt, “What’s the point you know? These people have shown me no kindness— you’re the only one that’s been nice to me.”  His fingers curled against the side of Magnus’s shirt, fingers shaking rapidly and stilling as he twisted— Magnus ignored the flutter within his stomach.

 

“Lucas, did you care about me when we first met, back when you were snubbing Johann about the void fish?” At Magnus’s words, Lucas pauses, staring up so that their eyes finally met and hummed a more of confirmation, “Well?” Lucas looks away with a frown, the tears had stopped but his eyes remained puffy and swollen as the remnants of his tears slipped down his dark cheeks. 

 

“No, I didn’t.”

 

“Did you care about me in your lab? When you left me for dead?”

 

“D-don’t talk about that second part, please I- I really regret that okay. I just wanted her back.” Lucas heaves with a cringe, a look crosses his face in that moment of genuine pain-- Magnus exercises from his mind-- but the wonder as to why it was there in the first pace will remain, burying his face into the shirt once more, “That’s all I wanted, if that were to have been now— I would have spared you, I-I am so sorry, Magnus.”

 

“Water under the bridge, Lucas,” Magnus says, a large hand reassuringly rubbing Lucas’s shaking shoulders. “We all fuck up, then we do good, to make up those fuck ups.” Lucas let’s out a high pitched sardonic laugh.

 

“I don’t think fuck ups normally include deaths.”

 

“Our lives bullshit has a death count,” Magnus confirms, “But, we are to be better than what we've done. Feelings aren’t simply words and though,  _ yeah _ , actions account for a lot-- but they can be  _ forgotten _ . Lucas, there is not enough time in the world to fix the mistakes we’ve made.” He grabs Lucas’s hand, his large fingers enlacing with Lucas’s nimble ones-- the soft edge of Magnus’s nail polish runs lovingly against the side of Lucas’s finger-- whose breath halts for an indescribable second at the movement. “But it’s always better with others.”

 

“Better with you, most definitely.” Lucas smiles then, his head turning into the crest of Magnus’s shoulder, steady breaths pushing across the fabric-- of which dances within the rhythm of his makeshift breeze. His hand squeezes gently into Magnus’s, a solemn sniff coming from his nose as his tired eyes look up at Magnus with a fleeting and unfamiliar expression, or rather, an expression that was most  _ definitely _ familiar-- just not with Lucas, not with anybody else in a very long time, not of course-- in this wavelength on that spectrum of emotion, Magnus felt a jitter in his chest as for a moment he could have sworn that he saw someone else there that was certainly, not Lucas, but also-- the only other person to ever look at him like  _ this _ .

 

His train of thought had soon stopped as he heard a yawn come from Lucas, who had now shifted his full eight against Magnus. “Do you mind,” the corner of Lucas’s mouth dances across the fabric on Magnus’s shoulder, “If we stay here, just relax? I look like hell and I’m very tired.” Magnus smiles, his hand giving a soft squeeze to Lucas’s fingers of which were still interlaced with his own.

 

“Sure, I'm pretty tired too.”

 

They fell into a comfortable silence, the tension between their fingers was long lost, but the loose lacing of them remained as they laid against the scratchy and tattered covers of the bed-- the smallest snore coming from Lucas, who clung to Magnus with his free hand as if he were afraid that Magnus would leave, never return and never say anything. Magnus stared at the ceiling above them, eyebrows drew tightly together and lips pursed pensively as he thought over, the warm secretion of emotion that turn and churned within him. The warmth of knowing that he was not alone, Lukas shifts in his arms-- perhaps the sleeping man felt the same way… He takes a slow shaking breath inward-- tilting his head backward into the pillow-- just so slightly that he can feel the crown of Lucas's head rest against his cheek. 

 

“I won’t leave you alone…” Magnus whispers to the sleeping man curled up against him, “I promise.” His conscience lulls and he gives that bony hand one final squeeze before allowing the dreamy haze of sleep to subdue him…

 

He dreamt of Lucas Miller.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Watching through my fingers, watching through my fingers  
> In my thoughts, you’re far away  
> And you are whistling the melody, whistling the melody  
> Crystallizing clear as day  
> Oh, I can picture you so easily, picture you so easily
> 
> Stop by and say hiya! to me on...  
> Twitter: Oriana_gray  
> Instagram: Oriana_gray  
> Tumblr: Orianagray


	4. The Anchor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which grief consumes Lucas in a unfathomable way, and Magnus-- keeps him stead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You are the light that is blinding me  
> You're the anchor that I tied to my brain  
> 'Cause when it feels like I'm lost at sea  
> You're the song I sing again and again  
> All the time, all the time  
> I think of you all the time
> 
> Sorry for the late update, I know I said I would update this every Sunday but that seems less and less possible, I will finish it most definitely-- Just not super scheduled updates... But yeah, hope you enjoy!

_ Most people would stay clear of the beach on days like these, days when the marine layer hung thick against the shore and dark cloud hovered above them, rain impending. The waves of the oceans hit the shore with sporadic and harsh thuds, a sharp hiss eliciting as it jutted up the wet sand as if it were clammy fingers clawing and reaching for a forbidden prize before receding back into itself, a shrinking defeat-- allowing the next wave to hit. It was, in better words, extraordinarily lachrymose and phenomenally dull. The melancholy of the beach had driven away any possible sightseers, not a single soul crowded the beach other than two. _

 

_ A woman with sharp, intelligent eyes, and a young boy with curly hair who pawed at the ground as he tried his best to create a castle with the awkward clumpiness of the semi-wet sand. Lucas was grumbling, for every creation he made seemed to crumble and shatter, disheveling into its previous state of being. He thumps the bridge of his glasses, pushing them back up his nose before looking at his mom, Maureen, who has her back turned to him-- staring wordlessly at the ocean. _

 

_ “Mom?” Lucas’s says she does not stir, “Mom, it’s getting cold-- can we go back to the lab? Please?” He stands, dusting the sand from his shorts running his hands over his bare arms in the hopes of finding any form of warmth. Her dark hair almost appears to float in the wind, a gentle sway back and forth in a rhythmic pattern. It was then he noticed her lab coat, she never wore it when it wasn’t necessary-- was it necessary now? Its movements were much unlike her hair, sporadic-- whipping and churning in a surreal appearance to the world around it. Splotches of red and black tattering it’s white sheen, a thick coat of blood and oil. _

 

_ The words left Lucas’s mouth in a small and pathetic cry, “Mom? Mom are you okay?” _

 

_ It was so fast, he did not even see her turn, but she was facing him now-- her face bloodsoaked and her hands at her sides, her eyes were void-- a heavy piercing blackness that had one sole concentration on Lucas. Her words came out slow, though her mouth moved quickly, as a heavy shout startled Lucas, causing him to step back, “Why Lucas? Why didn’t you stop me?”  _

 

_ Lucas tries to cry out, to yell something in the slightest of questioning, such as what is wrong, what are you talking about, can we just go home, can it just be normal again? But he knew the answer to all of those questions and the only thing that left him was a sob that was drowned out by the howl of the wind. Despite this, Maureen’s words were crystal clear. _ __   
  


_ “YOU KILLED ME LUCAS!” She screams, “YOU KILLED YOUR OWN MOTHER! IT’S ALL YOUR FAULT!” _

 

_ He tried to scream once more, a hoarse cough leaving rather than the ‘I’m sorry’ he so desired. She was sobbing now, a thick red liquid wetting her cheeks, as the wind howled between the both of them. The ocean had dissolved into an inky blackness, the waves were warped and curled closer towards Maureen, who was screaming-- through her mouth was sealed shut, a piercing scream echoed across the shoreline, it screeched almost as an alarm would, but Lucas could not find the will to move-- or even the ability to cover his ears. _

 

_ The ocean was now at her ankles, inky fingers made of water stretching around her and grasping at her, pulling her away from Lucas. He screams and finds himself running, gasping, and thrashing at the water-- trying to free. To save her, to do what he had not done before, but his body was giving and the current was strong as it tugged her away, the water curling and raging and that horrid scream still was ringing all around him, a song of surrender, a solid interlude of regret and grief. _

 

_ “Don’t go, please!” Lucas gargled, as a surge of water jetted up his body-- soaking him to the bone, his fingers were slipping from her wrists were the had made purchase, he screams and sobs as a wave punches him back-- sending him halfway back up the beach. The wind was knocked from his lungs and at the rate of speed he had reached the sand may as well have been concrete. He sputters air, his mouth tastes like the tang of metal, blood droplets fall from his shaky lips-- his body was aching and his head was spinning, it hurt, everything hurt, he opens his mouth to scream as another wave nearly-- _

 

Lucas jolts with a start, his breath falling in uneven and sporadic sputters and coughs. A sheen layer of sweat coats his skin and by all means, he felt as if all of his limbs were on fire, a heavy pounding in his chest as his heart pulsed rapidly. He groans, of course, he had become accustomed to these horrendous nightmares. They had, after all, become commonplace.

 

Now, Lucas Miller has a mind that is in a constant state of verve, no rest between the erratic firing off thoughts and ideas. Simple tasks, such as walking down the street, sitting in the park, somehow his mind often found itself somewhere altogether different. He couldn’t put it into words, the complex gears turning in clicking within his brain, crack and sparking and creaking with a dreaded noise that thumps rapidly against his skull as if someone had driven through his brain with a ball pein hammer. It was all the cost of being intelligent, he mused, the inevitable pain of never being able to silence his own mind-- especially after his mother's death, and now it mocked him after he had become well acquainted with Magnus Burnsides. 

 

They were little thoughts, they kept him solid, kept him standing on the ground and not drifting off into the purgatory that loomed within his own mind, so he found himself thinking… and thinking, fast paced but wholehearted. A stringy connection between his brain and his heart that had only functioned properly once before, at the loss of his mother. As he sobbed over a stone of far speech, staring at the burned spot of which his mother had stood previously-- the smell of singed flesh and burning hair striking his nose bitterly, he had gagged because it was  _ her _ hair and  _ her _ flesh… He had been sputtering and choking out the explanation to Lucretia that would soon be the very utterances that haunt him in the night.

 

_ “My mother is dead!” The words came out broken and course, the taste of each syllable was as thick as the taste of blood, lulling over his tongue so that he had to will himself not to vomit, “Lu--cretia, something happened, she’s dead. I--I don’t know what to do. My mother, mom… She’s dead.” And then he had cried, and cried, fingers scratching at where she once stood, vomiting and crying and then vomiting again, the bile swirling in the back of his mouth like a thick tac. Grief had hit him hard, she was all he had, and he had lost her. _

 

“Lucas?” A voice called out to him, it sent a warm shiver through his body-- the pressure on his chest winnowing at the pleasant hum of his own name, “Lucas, you’re crying? Lucas!” Large hands gently shook his shoulders and Lucas’s head snapped up, his eyes were wide and stung with the heated burn of salt. He gasps, staring up at Magnus, very aware now of how his cheeks were slick. His breathing was sporadic, his chest rising and falling in a pattering and unsynchronized divisions, huffs and puffs and breaths that came out shaky. Magnus had placed a hand at the center of his back, pushing against the muscle there and thrumming his hand in a slow and relaxing circle. The gloomy haze of the previous night overcame him, and he stared wide-eyed at the man who laid beside him, in his apartment,  _ in his bed _ . 

 

“It’s okay, Lucas. I’m here, let it out.” Magnus’s voice was soft, washing over Lucas in a pleasant wave of warmth and light. So much different than what he was, so much better, he reveled in the kindness of Magnus. Lucas blinks the tears away, rubbing the slicks on his cheeks harshly with an opened palm, his mother had laughed at him when he was younger,  _ “Lucas!” _ She would laugh, her voice always had a tired tone that hung on the ends of each word like dead weight, but the inexplicable warmness remained despite it,  _ “You’ll squish your eyes if you push that hard!” _ He would huff and pout, crossing his arms and retorting,  _ “They’re already bad!”  _ He would yell, and point to the gaudy glasses that hung halfway down his nose, for they were much too large on his small face. 

 

Now, as he shoved the brunt of his palms harshly against his eyes, the glasses had grown in-- and had hairline fractures sparkling in the corner of his frames, a reminder supposedly, of... He pauses, his thoughts ceasing as a warm hand grasps his wrist, he stared at it-- how Magnus’s hand fit so easily around his, as someone would an archer would an arrow, as a warrior their sword, a mutual trust within the contact. Magnus’s words were soft and sad, said so carefully that they fell serenely against Lucas’s ears, “I’m here now.” He spoke. Lucas nods harshly, a large unattractive sniff interrupting the moment, wicking away one last tear with his hand.

 

“Has anyone ever told you that you’ll squish your eyes out if you rub them  _ that _ hard?” Magnus muses, releasing Lucas’s wrist from his grasp. Lucas’s lip twitches, he couldn’t help it-- and never could he deter or solve the line of what that twitch was  _ supposed _ to be, a smile, a snarl, or a frown-- or perhaps an unholy cognition of all three, though, that seemed physically impossible, in the emotional state he was in-- the visualization of it was ever so probable. 

 

“Yeah,” Lucas says with a solemn sigh, “But I never listened.”

 

Magnus laughs, it is deep and hearty-- a wholehearted ringing of a clock tower, low and promiscuous in what emotions it made ring throughout another being-- it was a promise, it was a virtue, it was a song you could fall into and revel in. Lucas smiled, at the occasional flash of teeth, o how the scar on the edge of Magnus’s lip danced as if his laugh were that of a boisterous tune that encourages it onward, the larger scar that carved down across one side of his face, just barely peeking over his eye- crinkled in the small moment of joy. 

 

A smile settles across Magnus’s plump lips, sloppy and crooked, “Well, isn’t that surprise!” He teases, “Lucas Miller not listening? I would have  _ never _ guessed.” Lucas crinkles his nose and bats his hand weakly at Magnus as if to shoo him.

 

“Oh hard-de-har Burnsides, i’m just independent minded.”

 

Magnus smirked, “I think you mean  _ stubborn _ .”

 

Lucas scoffs, crossing his arms and throwing Magnus a half-hearted scowl-- a tin reality he was trying his best to suppress the grin that loomed beneath, and the blush that hid further, “No! There’s a difference, one of them sounds much better.” Magnus snorts, stretching his arms out with a loud yawn. Lucas couldn't help but stare at the curve of muscle that made itself present as he did so, or the heat that pooled within him as he thought of it-- of arms around him, of the heart lifting idea of them lifting him up, of them. Caging him against a wall.. or to a bed… He shakes the thought off as Magnus turns back to him, bits of his longer hair hung loosely against the side of his face. A halo of frizz encasing the crown of his head.

 

“So Lucy, what’s the plan today?”

 

Lucas raises an eyebrow, “Lucy?” He asks Magnus nods, that sardonic grin still staking claim across his face. “Is that some, weird, nickname you just came up with? Because personally, Magpie, I think you could do better. For example, Mag-pie-- I combined your name with on word and create the name of a bird, see  _ that _ , is how you create a nickname, not simply combining similar a-” A large hand covers his mouth, the rest of his explanation turning into a mixture of awkward humming noises coming from under the warmth of Magnus’s palm.

 

“Lucas, I am not going to sit here and have you explain  _ nickname lore _ to me when I haven’t even had breakfast.” Lucas’s eyes widen and he throws his face from Magnus’s hand, sitting up with a start, his glasses nearly flying from his face as he stares down at Magnus-- who now had a bemused expression, how could he have-- well of course he’s never  _ had-- _ but his mother at least taught him some form of etiquette, such as, Lucas Miller feed your  _ fucking guests.  _

 

Lucas Miller, was an intelligent man with a mind that reverberated the same amounts of punctuality and verbatim of an Oxford dictionary, there are approximately: 171,476 words that he could choose from in that moment to describe the embarrassment that overcame him in that moment, many verbs, adjectives, and even in worst case scenario-- adverbs, could describe the exact churning feeling of guilt and sudden energy that tangled within him at that moment, within his lapse of judgement. Yes, he probably could have found the proper word, but all he could manage was a forlorn shout of, “ _ Fuck _ !” 

 

He whipped his head back down to Magnus, “I- Well  _ fuck!  _ Okay, sorry, you’re hungry. I, er, I don’t really have anything to eat? Would you like something? I could go somewhere, fuck, I’m a bad host huh? Gods, shit, fuck-- I just..” He notices that Magnus is shaking, rather harshly, his bulbous shoulders bouncing rapidly and face contouring in odd ways, he was  _ laughing _ . His large nose crinkling as he snorted, an ungodly noise that somehow, Lucas noticed, was endearing in the slightest when he witnessed Magnus doing it. 

 

He had not even noticed, in that particular moment, that he was still continuing to ramble, the once intelligible words had now dissolved into a cesspit of confused babbles and embarrassed squeaks. Magnus grips either side of his arms and gives him a gentle shake as if to bring him back completely to his sense. 

 

“Lucas!” He bellows, Lucas was not a liar: He could have said many things in that moment that would contradict what actually happened, he could say-- that in fact, his thoughts did still. That he sat back and listened, clearly, plainly, as a normal human being would-- as any  _ logical _ person would. 

 

Lucas Miller, was by no means, a logical person. The evidence was scattered about his timeline, from withholding the crystal, to attempted necromancy-- successful necromancy, even in childhood most children would climb atop a chair to grasp and claw at the cookie jar-- Lucas, built a robot that could not just do that, but also defend against any magical attacks pertaining heat, because well  _ cookies could be hot! _ Nonetheless, yes, anyone of these things could condemn Lucas of a man with little common logic, a creative and overactive mind rather, is the perfect description. An example of those would be, the unintelligent slew of words that came in gasps and yelps of apologies and half minded solutions, as Magnus waited patiently-- giving a reassuring squeeze on either side of his arms over something as simple as  _ breakfast _ . 

 

“Breathe in, Lucas, just breathe…” Magnus says quietly, “Like me, in and out, in and out, in and out…” He trails onward, Lucas slowly falling into sync with Magnus’s breaths. Anxiety was something overwhelming, there are many things to have anxiety about, public speaking, tests, and even first dates. But this wasn’t  _ an _ anxiety, it simply was  _ anxiety, _ that perpetual fear that orbited within an individual, striking hard, causing panic. Lucas was panicking, about being a bad friend, a bad guy, just another fuckup tally on his list. His breath evened as Magnus spoke, the words in his head slowing significantly yet still churning, as they waited, inevitably, for another moment in time to whir again. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

 

“I know, ugh, it’s just. How do I explain this?” Lucas drums his fingers nervously against the bed, “My dad, my mom, they were all these huge names in science and I always had this big pressure on me-- to be, perfect? Not perfect, I guess, but just- phenomenal, exceed, exemplary and to hold the name of a  _ Miller! _ Well, that kinda, seeped into every little thing, I suppose. I have to be the phenomenal host, I have to be the exceeding scientist, I have to be exemplary at being a friend! It’s very, my brain does something-- you know how robots short circuit? Or how before you drank from the void fish, your brain had moments of just static?” Magnus nods, and Lucas continues, “It’s very much like that, but imagine that static was replaced by an endless and revolving cloud of thoughts of doubt and self battery, sometimes it just- can be overwhelming. It wasn’t you, particularly? I- I think it would be more like, a random outburst of stress that randomly had occurred, and you, consequentially, had just been here to witness it.” 

 

Magnus hums and gives a nod of affirmation, his hands falling from Lucas’s arms and hitting the mattress with a soft  _ thump _ . His eyebrows are raised, drawn neatly together almost, as to show that he is thinking. Lucas remained still, his fingers still drumming and twirling his fingers into the white cotton of the sheets. Worrying his thin lip between his teeth as he stares downward, not quite having the courage to look back at Magnus, who speaks in a low tone, “Well, if it means anything-- I think I know a nice little cafe if you’re interested?” Lucas' head snaps up, bright eyed with a smile hinting at his lips.

 

“I-I think that would be perfect Magnus.” He says, rubbing one final tear from his cheek, Magnus grins. 

  
It was nice to have someone, Lucas could confirm, that keeps him from drowning in his own misery, or floating beyond to somewhere nonexistent-- somewhere bad. An anchor, Magnus had become his anchor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Watching through my fingers, watching through my fingers  
> In my thoughts, you’re far away  
> And you are whistling the melody, whistling the melody  
> Crystallizing clear as day  
> Oh, I can picture you so easily, picture you so easily
> 
> Stop by and say hiya! to me on...  
> Twitter: Oriana_gray  
> Instagram: Oriana_gray  
> Tumblr: Orianagray

**Author's Note:**

> Watching through my fingers, watching through my fingers  
> In my thoughts, you’re far away  
> And you are whistling the melody, whistling the melody  
> Crystallizing clear as day  
> Oh, I can picture you so easily, picture you so easily
> 
>  


End file.
